The Art of Losing
by Ardent Ly
Summary: She gave up her boots, her closet, her childhood, and ultimately, her heart – so, it only made sense that she should be the one to give this up, too. Never underestimate a woman in love.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: She gave up her boots, her closet, her childhood, and ultimately, her heart – so, it only made sense that she should be the one to give this up, too. Never underestimate a woman in love.

_Disclaimer: I do not own_ Hey, Arnold!_ or any relating plots or characters._

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><p><strong>The Art of Losing<strong>

**By Ardent Ly **

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><p>Arnold struggled to lift his eyelids, instinctively cringing away at the intensely bright lights overhead. As if sensing his pain, the light winked out and the world was suddenly dark again. An incessant beeping at his side alarmed him and he jumped up, only to be held back by invisible cords attached to various parts of his body. Panic and distress must've shown on his face as he felt a reassuring hand cup his shoulder, trying to ease him back down onto the soft surface he rested on.<p>

"He's responding well to the light, so I think it's safe to say that we're making some progress. Now, Arnold, you might feel a little disoriented at first, so don't try to rush it." A detached voice cautioned. "Just open your eyes nice and slow." Following the unfamiliar voice's instructions, the blond teen relaxed his face and attempted to pry his eyes open once more. Accomplishing this, he swivelled his head slowly, trying to determine where he was. Everything around him was all one big blur with hazy colours and indefinable shapes, increasing his anxiety.

"Where… where am I?" He asked, though it sounded like nothing more than gibberish to his ears. His voice was surprising groggy and there was a dryness in his throat that made it itchy and irritated. Inhaling deeply, his nose crinkled at the clean, frighteningly sterile smell. The outlines before him began to shift rapidly and it pained him to watch the frantic movements. He shut his eyes quickly, covering them with one hand.

"You're at Hillwood Hospital's intensive care unit, Arnold." The voice replied soothingly. "My name is Dr. Benson."

Arnold coughed, vehemently trying to get moisture into his mouth. "H-hospital? What? What's going on? What happened?" He stirred only to be pushed down again.

"Holy jahozafat, he's got amnesia!" He heard the unmistakable voice of his father cry out.

"Hush, Miles, you'll frighten poor Arnold. Arnold, darling, we're right here. How are you feeling?" His mother's usually comforting tone was tinged with worry, and Arnold found that he didn't like it at all. Something cold pressed against his lips and, after realizing that it was a cup, he drank deeply and gratefully.

"Mom, what happened to me? Why can't I open my eyes?" The dread began to rise in his throat. A hand weaved itself through his tuffs of hair in an attempt to calm him and Arnold grabbed it instantly, desperate for any kind of anchor.

"Your eyes are open, dear," replied Stella in a dejected voice.

The poor boy was in full panic mode now. "What? What's going on?"

"You had an accident, man." Gerald's weary voice drifted to his ears. "Sid and Stinky were mixing chemicals in class and it combusted. I have no idea what they were using, but whatever it was, it ate through your goggles. God, Arnold, don't ever do that again!" After the scraping of a chair against the floor, another comforting hand found his shoulder.

Arnold grinned weakly, a poor attempt to console his friend. "How long have I been here?"

"Just a little over four weeks." Came Dr. Benson's answer. "We put you under some pretty heavy meds to keep you from feeling any pain." Arnold tried not to flinch as gentle hands prodded the tender areas around his eyes. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions, so feel free to ask."

The blond boy didn't hesitate. "Did anyone else get hurt?"

Gerald laughed, emitting a sound that was half relieved and half frenzied with exhaustion. "Glad to see you haven't lost your Good Guy-ness, man. And no, it was just you. I guess you saw what was going to happen and pushed Sid and Stinky out of the way. You got a face full, though."

"Oh." Was all he could say.

"Any medical questions you'd like answered, Arnold?" The kind doctor inquired.

Arnold pondered for a moment, and then, "Nothing I can think of on the spot, Doctor. I mean, everything seems to have turned out okay, it's not like I went blind or anything." There was a deadly silence. "What? What's wrong?"

Miles' hesitant voice broke through it. "The thing is, Shortman, you _did_ go blind."

His father's admonition had Arnold shaken. "What?"

"By the time you were brought to the hospital, the chemicals, which we suspect may have been alkaline, were soaked into the corneas of your eyes." The gray blob he now identified as Dr. Benson explained. "It was far too late to save your eyesight and so for the first few days, we worked just to keep you as comfortable as possible."

"But, that doesn't make sense. If it was too late, then how come I can see now? Well, not _see_ see, but you know…"

"We replaced your damaged corneas with donated corneal tissue using a surgical procedure called corneal grafting." An unfamiliar voice of a woman sounded in. A new unrecognizable shape entered his field of limited vision. "Under most circumstances, we would have waited until you regained consciousness to discuss the surgery, but we couldn't risk further damaging the tissues of your eyes. Your parents signed the consent forms since you were still underage during the time of the surgery. Speaking of which, happy belated eighteen birthday, Arnold."

"Uh, thank you…"

There was a light laughter from the disembodied voice. "How silly of me, I forgot to introduce myself. Hello, Arnold, my name is Alice Monroe," a warm hand slipped into his and pumped it gently. "I'm your ophthalmologist."

"My opathwhatsit?"

Another tinkling laugh. "Your ophthalmologist; I performed the surgery on your eyes. I'm pleased to say that it was a complete success. We are, however, going to keep you for a few more days to reduce the risk of infection and to ensure that you respond appropriately to your medication. Also, I know you probably can't see anything concrete at the moment, but rest assure that that's completely normal. You'll be extremely sensitive to light for the first few weeks, so we're going to equip you with some specialized glasses that you're going to have to wear both indoors and outdoors. We also discourage over-exerting yourself for the next six weeks, so that means no extensive exercise or heavy lifting. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Arnold paused for a moment, and then remembered an odd detail Dr. Monroe had let slip during her explanation. "You said that my corneas were replaced with donated ones right?"

"That's right." She answered.

"Doesn't the donation process take much longer than just three weeks? How did I manage to get these corneas so quickly?"

"Excellent question, Arnold. And you're right when you say that it usually takes much longer for compatible organs to be found, varying from weeks to months. With corneal transplants, however, we usually extract the needed parts from recently diseased individuals –" He shivered at the thought of having a dead person's eyes in his own. "– but the ones we had available weren't compatible. Luckily for you, someone graciously decided to donate their corneas to your cause. We ran a few tests and found that they were a perfect match."

"So, you mean that someone – someone _who's still alive – _decided to give me _their_ corneas?" Arnold asked, completely disbelieving. The thought that someone out there had given away their sight to him, of all people, shook him to the core. "But, why would someone want to do that for _me_?"

His best friend scoffed at his reaction. "Are you kidding, man? You've helped out nearly everyone in the city with something or the other; whoever it was probably felt that it was their turn to help you after all the times you've helped them."

"To be honest, I was pretty shocked at the donation, as well." Dr. Benson admitted. "In all my years of practice, I never once had this happen. Dr. Monroe?"

The woman answered in similar terms. "Never. You must have done something incredibly kind to have received such an amazing gift, Arnold." She finished in a wistful tone.

The boy, in turn, was wracking his brain to determine if he had done anything to warrant such kindness. He couldn't think of a single person he had helped in the past who would make such a sacrifice. "Who was it, Dr. Monroe? I need to thank them somehow; let them know how grateful I am for what they did for me." At his side, he heard his parents' hum of accordance.

"I'm afraid I'm not liable to disclose that information." She said, sounding truly regretful. "Your donor was quite adamant that their identity be kept anonymous. If you'd like, we can set up a letter exchange between you two, but that's the best we can do, I'm afraid." Arnold mumbled his agreement, all the while thinking of how inadequate a letter seemed in terms of expressing his gratitude.

Dr. Benson's glob stood directly in front of him now. "I know it's a lot for you to take in all at once, but you've got a great support system behind you all the way. Dr. Monroe and I are just going to step out for a moment and talk to your parents for a moment, if you have no more questions. " After a grateful shake of their patient's head, the four adults left the room.

"You can take off if you need to, Gerald. You sound beat." Arnold encouraged with a smile, secretly hoping that his friend would decide to stay.

A screeching sound indicated to him that his best friend was pulling his chair closer to the bed. "Naw, man, we've been waiting weeks for you to wake up, so I'll stay if you're not too tired for company."

Relieved, Arnold replied, "I definitely need a friend right now, Gerald, so thanks." He heaved in a great breath and laid back comfortably on the pile of pillows behind him. "I can't believe this happened to me. It's like something straight out of a book."

"Tell me about it, man." Gerald expelled a heavy sigh, as well. "What I can't believe is that this happened to _you_, of all people. You're the nicest guy I know! Heck, you're probably the nicest guy in this whole city! Why couldn't it have happened to Wolfgang or something?" The top part of the disfigured splotch in front of him was rotating back and forth, and Arnold knew that Gerald having one of his infamous "Mmm mmm mmm!" moments. "Sid and Stinky are feeling awfully guilty over what happened, so don't be surprised if they come by to visit you every day."

"I hope they didn't get in too much trouble." Arnold said truthfully, knowing that any ruckus so close to graduation would be an ugly scar on their transcripts. At the thought, his eyes widened in realization. "Gerald! What day is it today?"

"July seventh. Why?"

Arnold groaned inwardly as his fears were confirmed. "I missed graduation." He murmured sadly. He was sorely disappointed to have missed such a significant milestone in his life and he was positive his parents were, too. After returning from their decade-long adventure at San Lorenzo, his parents strived to make up for the time they had lost, attending every baseball game and swim meet their son was in.

"And prom," his friend added regretfully. "But don't worry, buddy, you didn't miss much. Just the usual stuff, you know – Sid spiked the punch, Curly got kicked out for throwing paint bombs at Herald for asking Rhonda to be his date, and Eugene pissed off the entire decoration committee when he ripped off all the streamers during one of his accidents – so you see, man, no biggie."

"Still… I was really looking forward to going." Another daunting thought struck him. "Oh man, Gerald, what am I going to do about college? I can't miss out on _that_, too! Not with my scholarship and everything." The blond boy groaned at his misfortune, dreading the possibility that he may not be attending NYU in the fall.

"Don't you worry about that, son," Miles replied confidently as he and his wife stepped back into the room. "We contacted the administration and made them aware of your situation. You still have a spot reserved on the admission list, but I'm afraid that you won't be attending school until January. Dr. Monroe, as well as your mother and I, believe that it's best if you take the next few months to recuperate before heading back to school."

"Mr. Monroe also referred us to a therapist in Manhattan that's going to be helping you adjust to everything while you recover." Said Stella as she wrapped an arm around his broadened shoulders. "She mentioned to us earlier that your vision is going to be blurry for about three to six months, but with a little therapy, you should be able to be back on your feet in no time."

"So does that mean that I can still move to New York with Gerald and Phoebe in a few weeks?" For the first time that day, Arnold actually felt excited and hopeful. His entire being buzzed with anticipation and he felt like a child that had been given free range in a sweet shop.

His mother fed off his delight and continued with her news. "Maybe not so soon, but perhaps in a month or two. We couldn't keep your reservation on the dorm room you had applied for, but your father called in a few favours and managed to get us a great deal on an apartment just a couple blocks away from campus." She felt her son's anxiety physically dissolve when the tension in his upper body evaporated.

"You guys thought of everything." He thanked, feeling as if he had been relieved from an invisible weight on his shoulders.

Feather light lips brushed across his temple, warming his instantly. "We just want to make this change as seamless as possible, sweetie. We know that the last few weeks have been tough on you." Arnold revelled in the comfort of his parents and best friend, only to be interrupted by an apologetic nurse that informed them that visiting hours were over. After exchanging goodbyes and securing promises that they would return the following day, his exhaustion caught up to him. Too weary to fight off the fatigue urging his eyes close, he nodded off to sleep, his last thoughts on a faceless angel that gave him another chance at life.

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><p>Hello, everyone! So, this is my second attempt at writing a <em>Hey, Arnold!<em> fanfic. After getting such an amazing reception from my first HA story, I was really encouraged to write more. It's not going to be very long, probably around three chapters maximum.

I did do a lot of research on the topic of corneal grafting, and I do apologize if I got any of the information wrong. Please be aware that I'm not from the United States, so I've based a lot of details in this story on third-party information. For instance, I'm not quite sure what the legal age of personal consent is for medical procedures in the United Stated, but let's just say for all intents and purposes that it's eighteen. Also, I'm pretty sure that graduation and prom for typical American high schools was around mid- to end of June, but if that's incorrect, please forgive me.

Oh, and let's just pretend that Arnold's birthday is in June. I know that he mentions in "Married" that his birthday was on the 7th, but he didn't give a month. So, for the sake of the story, his birthday is June 7th.

Lastly, this story was – again – inspired by a pre-existing piece of work; this time, a music video a friend of mine showed me. If you recognize the plot, I ask that you please not spoil it. For those who don't and wish to see the music video, please don't hesitate to send me a request via personal message or review *hint hint* asking for a link, but note that I'm only going to send it after I post up the entire story so as to not ruin the ending.

Phew, that was a long author's note. I guess I'll shut up now, haha. Please review and tell me what you think so far!

~Ardie


	2. Chapter 2

Summary: She gave up her boots, her closet, her childhood, and ultimately, her heart – so, it only made sense that she should be the one to give this up, too.

_Disclaimer: I do not own_ Hey, Arnold!_ or any relating plots or characters._

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><p><strong>The Art of Losing<strong>

**By Ardent Ly **

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><p>The crisp air both refreshed and prickled Arnold's nose as he inhaled deeply, taking in what he could of Greenwich Village. He was the perfect picture of contentment as he strolled along the park path, one gloved hand curled around a now lukewarm beverage while the other took residence in his jacket pocket. Exhaling, he watched as curls of smoke escaped his mouth. It was a month shy from December, but it was certainly a lot chillier than what he was used to for a November day. Patches of ice had formed on the ground, making him mindful to watch his step, and the sky was an impassive gray, brightened only by the few resilient leaves hanging from nearly-naked trees.<p>

Though he was clad only in a thin coat, Arnold had no regrets being caught in the cold. He had just finished a session with his visual therapist and decided to forgo his usual taxi ride home and walk instead. After spending months cooped up in a hospital and then at home for recuperation, he knew he would never take for granted even the shortest walks in the park. While he had befriended many of the staff at the hospital and was hardly ever short of company once he returned to the boarding house, he was used to being active and found himself constantly restless during his time in isolation. Sid and Stinky had set up a mini basketball hoop at the corner of his room to keep him occupied when they weren't there – Gerald hadn't been kidding when he told him that they would be dropping by everyday – but given his still poor eyesight at the time, it wasn't used very often, much to his friends' guilt.

Thankfully, many of his other friends came by to visit him, breaking his dull routine. True to her sweet nature, Lila always came with a basketful of baked treats at hand, along with humorous stories from the animal shelter she volunteered at. Coincidentally, her visit was always followed by a social from Rhonda and Herald, with the former always looking for new ways to resolve the "fashion faux pas" that was his regular jeans and plain shirts while her boyfriend scarfed down half of the treats Lila had left him.

With every group that came to call on him, Arnold always had the lingering hope that he would hear the playfully sarcastic voice of his once-tormentor. They had become something akin to friends over the years, having shared so many classes and participating on the same teams, but never once did she stop by. It was wishful thinking, he supposed, expecting her to care about him the same way he did about her. And now, having moved to Manhattan just a few weeks ago to get ready for his first semester of school, the chances of him reconnecting with her were slim considering that, well, he had no idea where she was.

"It was like she disappeared off the face of the earth." Gerald had shrugged off after mentioning that she had failed to show up at both prom and graduation. When Arnold had checked the yearbook, the space beside her picture meant to indicate the university she was to attend in the fall was left blank, but he supposed it wasn't too odd seeing as many others had failed to do so, as well.

"Well, I suppose wherever she is, she's happy." He tried to convince himself.

"'Atta boy, Arnoldo! Good job!"

Arnold's head snapped up. _Am I going crazy?_ He swivelled his oblong head in all directions, aching to find to find a semblance of a clue that he wasn't just imagining things. Lightly jogging, he turned the corner, desperate to find a single shock of golden blonde or bubble-gum pink the girl was infamous for. Standing still as stone, he paused, straining to hear the voice he heard only moments ago. Everything was suddenly overbearingly loud – the wind shrieked as it swept past him, the distant cries of playing children pierced through the air, even his breath was far too boisterous as it coming out in hard, laboured puffs. A beat passed, then two and three, when finally, humiliation swept over him. Digging his fists into his pockets he turned to leave, his shoulder hunched in disappointment.

"Come here, boy!"

"I know I heard it that time!" He assured himself, disposing of his empty drink before lightly jogging down the paved pathway. Adrenaline and hope pumped through his entire body with every step he took.

"One more time, boy!" He heard, much clearer this time. His impatience grew as he found that the pathway snaked through picturesque settings in the park, and decided to cut across the grass. He weaved through the random bushes and branches in his path, pushed by his new determination. Coming to the other side of the park, he looked around and what he caught stole his breath away.

Never in his life had he seen Helga G. Pataki look so small and vulnerable. Her five feet eight inch frame was dwarfed by the way she seemed to curl into herself. Her hair was free from the pigtails she favoured once upon a time, a look she donned from seventh grade onward. But, as appealing as the sight was, he couldn't help but see it as a shield meant to ward off any curious strangers. Her movements were clumsy, he noted, watching as she tossed a worn tennis ball for her dog to catch – highly unusual given that she was the star pitcher of their high school's softball team.

What rattled him the most, however, was the pair of sunglasses perched on her face. Having worn them just months before, he knew that they were specialized glasses worn to protect hypersensitive eyes. His brow furrowed in confusion, confident that there was something he was missing. Suddenly, everything clicked in his head and Arnold felt his legs nearly collapse from underneath him at his jarring realization. He unconsciously stepped forward, only to be stopped when a sheet of paper got caught under the toe of his boot, flapping around like a worm on a hook. Reaching down, he freed it from underneath him.

He was astounded when a grinning image of himself stared back at him. From the suit his image wore, he recognized that it was a picture taken from his junior year's spring dance, and the tear at the top and left hand side told him that it was most likely torn from a yearbook page. Butterflies raged in his stomach, threatening to upheave his breakfast.

A shrill ringing broke him out of his reverie and when he looked up again, he watched as Helga cautiously whip out a slim, but rather thick cellphone from her coat pocket. "Home calling." A robotic voice of a woman notified. Without further ado, the blonde woman instructed it to answer the call. "Hey, Olga. At the park with Arnoldo. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm on my way home now. Do you need me to pick up anything?" Her eavesdropper felt strange listening in to just one side of the conversation, but couldn't seem to cease his intrusive actions. His shock had him rooted to the ground and as much as he wanted to call out and make his presence known, he wasn't quite sure what he would say. "Alright, see you in a few minutes. Yes, I'll be safe. Yes, I promise not to rush home. Yes, I'm sure I don't need you to come pick me up. Criminy, Olga, it's only a few blocks away. I'll be fine. Bye."

Sighing with a fond exasperation, she addressed the golden retriever sitting at her feet with a toy in his mouth. "Come on, Arnoldo, let's get going. Her Royal Highness Olga Pataki has summoned us for dinner." She said in her usual sarcastic manner, though it was curiously void of any hate. She pushed her slender wrist through the loop of the leash handle and grabbed onto the harness strapped to the back of her guide dog. Standing, she did not move forward, instead palming the surface of the bench. "Criminy, where is that book?" She felt around some more, the frustration growing on her face. When her fingers brushed the spine, she visibly relaxed, only to become panicked once more as she flipped through it. "Oh no, where is it?" She swept her palm across the bench's surface, her movements more desperate than before.

He suddenly realized that what she was looking for was in his hands. Still rather shaken at the events unfolding before him, he approached her, being sure to throw his voice. "Uh, excuse me, Miss? Is this yours?" Rewinding what he said in his head, he wanted to smack himself for his idiocy. _She can't see, you half-wit! _

Unfazed by his choice of words, she asked, "What is it?"

"A picture," he responded, keeping up with his façade. He glanced down at the picture in his hand and coughed to hide his embarrassment. "Of a young man." He could almost feel the relief emanating from her.

"Oh, yes, that is. Thank you very much!" She jutted her arm out to retrieve her treasure. She unknowingly aimed much too high, just around his chin, and this slight action only served to sadden him further.

"That's a nice picture you got there." He commented after composing himself, unsure of what else to say.

"Yeah…" A fond smile tugged her lips upwards for the briefest moment, only to be replaced by her infamous scowl seconds later. Looking at her, Arnold couldn't help but think that her matured features seemed to soften the frown, making it look less threatening and more like a plump pout. "What's it to ya, buddy? Anyways, thanks again." Without another word, she urged Arnoldo to start walking. Arnold struggled to maintain himself as he watched her take slow, unsure steps. He found himself literally holding himself back as soon as she reached the edge of the sidewalk, certain that she was going to be hit by an oncoming car at any moment. But his foolishly anxious thoughts were dispelled as car after car drove by and her guide dog stayed put; only when the crossing sign signalled an okay did they actually start moving.

Arnold released the breath he didn't know he was trapping. He still stood where he was long after she was gone from sight, trying to absorb what he had just witnessed. Question upon question flooded his mind and he suddenly regretted not chasing after her for answers. Spinning on his heel, he realized there was another person who could tell him all he needed to know.

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><p>"How long?" Arnold demanded from a disconcerted Phoebe, his voice hard and unyielding.<p>

Startled by his aggressiveness, she was quick to answer, "How long what, Arnold?"

Frustrated, he shot back, "How long have you known?"

Puzzled by his rude manner, but not so much that he was willing to let Arnold disrespect his girlfriend, Gerald took a defensive tone. "What's your deal, man? Don't go talking to Phoebe, like that."

The petite Asian woman resting beside him surprised him as she stiffened in her seat, then, after a quiet second, answered their friend in a defeated voice. "From the very beginning." She toyed with the napkin in her hands, looking very much like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't she?" The angry man across from her inquired roughly, ignoring the way his raised voiced caught the interested stares of the other patrons in the cafe.

Thoroughly confused, Gerald's looked back and forth from Phoebe to Arnold, practically tasting the tension between them expand to suffocating proportions. "What are you talking about, man?" His words were brushed off once again.

"She asked me not to. It wasn't my secret to tell, so I respected her wishes." She replied in a small voice, sounding guilt-ridden, though there was a slightly stubborn jilt of her chin as she spoke loyally of her best friend. "As for why she didn't tell you… well, you know how she is." They were inadequate answers that failed to calm the blond boy.

"Okay, seriously, you guys, what's going on?" The disregarded boy growled, almost angry now, himself. "What did you know 'from the very beginning'?" Who's 'she' and what didn't she tell you? Throw me a bone, guys, 'cause I'm confused as hell right now!"

Taking a moment to settle himself, the oblong-headed teen turned to his best friend. "Remember when Dr. Monroe told me that someone donated their corneas to help me see again?"

The African-American boy nodded, still not understanding. "Yeah, and when you asked her who it was, she told you that she couldn't tell you because of some legal mambo-jumbo. What's that got to do with anything?"

"It was Helga. Helga donated her corneas to me." His tone was heated and had he lasers for eyes, the table before them would've been annihilated with the way he glared down at it.

"_What?_" Gerald yelped in incredulity. "You have got to be fucking kidding me!" He looked to Phoebe for elaboration, thinking maybe that this was all just a prank the two had set up for him. He slumped back against the booth cushions when her weary nod confirmed what he refused to believe. Arnold recounted his chance encounter with Helga, though leaving out the small detail of the picture she had kept, watching the dubiety grow on Gerald's face. "But, _why_?" The confused boy stressed, getting more and more aggravated as the conversation progressed. "She was a complete shrew to you during elementary and while I can admit she's gotten nicer over the years, she's never so much as hinted that she _tolerated_ you!"

His interest rose as his girlfriend and best friend shared a quick glance, but Gerald knew an uncertain look when he saw one, especially from the two people he had known virtually all his life. "Alright, out with it. What else do you guys know that I don't?"

"Helga… she… I mean…there might be a possibility that –" Phoebe stuttered, only to be interrupted by Arnold.

"She loves me." He said simply, sounding…_not _angry for the first time since the trio sat down. He continued before the teen across from him could explode in another sceptical tirade. "She told me when were on the roof of the FTi building… back when we were nine."

Gerald was pretty confident that heart failure was in his immediate future. "That explains everything! Why she was on the roof, why you two were acting so weird afterwards… hold on a second, the both of you have known about this for _years_ and you decide to tell me all of this _just now_?" He looked accusingly at his girlfriend, whose despondency was evident in her entire body language. "So much for loyalty." He grumbled, rubbing his aching temples. A stiff silence stretched between the three of them, finally broken when Gerald released a much-needed breath and turned towards the tired-looking blond. "So, what do you plan on doing now?"

Looking conflicted, Arnold cradled his head between his hands. "I'm not sure. I mean, Phoebe's right – we know how she is. Forcing her to talk to me would be like talking to a wall."

Gerald snorted. "Ya got that right. But I still think you should give it a try."

The blond teen nodded his agreement. "I really would like to thank her in person. Writing all those letters never seemed enough." He trailed off, recalling the hundreds of letters he had sent his then-donor, remembering guiltily the day he realized that they would be virtually useless seeing as the receiver would no longer be able to read them.

He ignored the heated discussion his friends had across from him, Phoebe adamantly trying to dissuade any face-to-face contact for the sake of her best friend's wishes while Gerald continuously insisted that it was well within Arnold's rights to confront the woman. Losing himself in his thoughts, Arnold stared out into the bleak setting through the window, knowing that somewhere out there, his angel lay waiting for him.

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><p>The next chapter, for anybody wondering, will hold confrontation scene. Special thanks to <strong>sweet. aria <strong>and **Shahrezad1 **for dispelling any uncertainties about the details I had put into the first chapter. *hugs*

Special thanks also to **A.T.M.R. **who brought up a rather interesting point in her review. For anyone else wondering: no, Arnold did not adopt Helga's eye color. I had always wondered if that were possible, but all the research I've done points that such a thing does not happen with corneal transplants. A shame, really, I'm sure Arnold would look quite dashing with blue eyes.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Please **review** and tell me what you think!

~Ardie


	3. Chapter 3

Summary: She gave up her boots, her closet, her childhood, and ultimately, her heart – so, it only made sense that she should be the one to give this up, too.

_Disclaimer: I do not own_ Hey, Arnold!_ or any relating plots or characters._

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><p><strong>The Art of Losing<strong>

**By Ardent Ly **

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><p>Arnold stared up uncertainly at the forest green door before him, his nerves completely shot. His hand flexed open and close, a nervous habit he acquired during the start of high school, crinkling the torn scrap of paper containing the address of the house he stood before. When he wrestled it from Phoebe, who was still rather hesitant at revealing too much, he had a firm resolve to confront the stubborn girl. But now, just metres away from her, he found his confidence wavering.A quick call to Gerald was no help, who simply insisted to "Just stop trippin' and get in there, man!" He bounded up the short flight of stairs, his chest pounding, and he rapped on the door before he could lose his nerve.<p>

"Coming!" He heard the tell-tale singsong voice of the elder Pataki daughter call out. He was so deep in his thoughts, desperate to recollect the speech he had ready in his head, that he jumped when the door swung open to reveal a beaming Olga.

"Oh, Arnold! What a pleasant surprise! Please, come in, come in!" She ushered him into the foyer, slipping his coat from his shoulders and hanging it over his discarded shoes.

Arnold warmed at her enthusiastic welcome, but his anxieties refused to settle. "Hi, Miss Pataki. Uh, is Helga in?"

"Call me Olga, dear, I stopped being your teacher years ago! Helga? Oh yes, yes, Baby Sister will be so happy to see you! She hasn't been keeping in touch with many of her high school friends since… I mean – her –"

Arnold smiled warmly, indicating that he understood. Relieved, the older blonde woman sighed and shot him a grateful look. "Well, you make yourself comfortable and I'll go grab her. I'll just be a moment. Can I get you anything while you wait?" He shook his head. Smiling her infectious smile, she hurried up the stairs as he sank himself into the couch, taking the time to admire the room. It was a modest home, he surmised, though he knew that the price of living there was not. Phoebe had briefly mentioned that Olga worked as a teacher's assistant at NYU, and so he wasn't too surprised to discover that the Pataki sisters lived in one of the more expensive high-rise apartments at Greenwich Village.

There was a wall devoted completely to what appeared to be an endless supply of books and trophies, and another wall dotted with frames. Curious, Arnold left his place to examine the content of the frames. There were numerous pictures of Olga at her best, receiving awards and shaking hands with prominent social figures. In the largest frame, positioned right in the centre of the grand display, he spotted a portrait of the sisters – Olga sitting with her hands folded demurely on her lap and a sixteen-year-old Helga hovering over her with a hand on her older sister's shoulder. The smile on the younger blonde's face was stunning, both in its rarity and in the way it seemed to light up her entire face. Grinning to himself now, Arnold moved on to the next frame. He drew in a sharp breath at what he saw. He read through the document carefully, finding his heart growing heavier and heavier with each word.

**_Miss Helga Geraldine Pataki, _**

**_Congratulations! The English Department at Oxford University is pleased to offer you admission and a full scholarship! This offer of admission recognizes your outstanding grades…_**

In the adjoining frame was an extensive book list she was expected to have read over the summer. The full extent of her sacrifice hit him full force and while he should have been expecting it, it still made him feel as if he had run head-first into a brick wall. He placed a hand on a nearby table to steady himself.

"Arnold?" Olga's hesitant voice called out to him from the bottom of the staircase, wringing her hands. Arnold knew instantly what was wrong. "Baby Sister isn't feeling very well right now… perhaps you could come visit her another time. I'm so sorry you had to come all this way for nothing."

The blond man took one last lingering glance at the framed acceptance letter. "She… she doesn't want to see me, does she?" The words were soft, but laced with devastation. The older woman flushed and look pained as she tried to convey with her eyes what she could not admit. "Please, Olga, it's really important that I see her."

"I'm sorry Arnold, but Helga really isn't –"

The green of his eyes pierced through hers. "I know." She gasped, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. There was a frantic look in her eyes and she began to stutter out incoherent words in a poor attempt to salvage the situation.

Realizing that her words were useless, she exhaled deeply, rubbing the bridge of her as if in deep contemplation. "Yes, of course you do. I told her that you would find out one day and that you would come looking for answers, no matter how far she moved away. It was only a matter of time." She sighed again, a strange combination of relief and sadness. "I guess I really have no other choice. You deserve to know why, though I'm fairly confident you already do. Come on, then, let's get you upstairs. I just hope Helga won't stay mad at me for too long."

At her urging, Arnold trekked up the stairs. He ignored his hostess' erratic whisperings of "It's for her own good!" and "She'll thank me for this one day!", focusing instead on the fitful beating of his palpitating heart. After what seemed like an eternity, they halted in front of a plain white door. "Go ahead, dear. But please, be gentle with her. She's suffered through enough." There was an encouragement and a Pataki warning in her tone, the latter of which he knew never to take lightly. Throat curiously dry, he just nodded. He rapped the door three times with his knuckle.

"Come in." A soft voice called out.

Fearing that he might lose his nerve, Arnold quickly pushed the door open. At first glance, it didn't appear as if anyone was in the room. It was a simple room, with no furnishings other than a writing desk, drawer, and bed pushed to the right side of the room. The drapes that hung at the side of the windows were a sterile white, as was the circular rug on the floor, contrasting with the deep mahogany floor boards. He recognized the gold-coloured dog resting in an oval-shaped dog bed situated less than a metre away from the bed, the bracing meant to aid the sightless missing from his back. The dog's deep stare surveyed him from the door way, looking unsure of Arnold's potential dangerousness.

Gulping, the nervous teen continued to scan the room. The only indications that a human being actually lived in it were the clothes seen hanging in the closet and the books piled high on the desk. Upon quick inspection, he spotted _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ and _The Introduction to Creative Writing_ along with a few other books with blank spines.

"Has he left, Olga?" Arnold realized with a start that what he believed was a doll huddled into the corner of the bed was no doll at all, but rather, the young woman he was searching for. She looked very much like she did at the park; her knees were gathered to her chest and, along with her hunched shoulders, she created the perfect image of a frightened fortress. He stepped further into the room and shut the door firmly behind him.

When he was nearly at her side, Helga stiffened and turned her face towards the window. "What are you doing here, Football Head?" Never in his life did he think he would be so glad to hear his obnoxious nickname. Her glasses sat on her pillow, just atop the book he recognized as the one she had brought with her that fateful day at the park, and so he was free to search the entirety of her face. He always thought that she was pretty, and from he heard back in the boys' locker rooms, many others thought so, too. But, as he continued to sweep his gaze across the plains of her face, he began to realize that "pretty" just wasn't enough. The overbite and unibrow she was infamous for when they were young were gone, replaced with the delicate curve of her jawline and two perfectly arched brows. She had grown into her nose, as well, and her ears seemed to frame her face just right. What caught him off-guard, however, were her eyes. The usually expressive cobalt pools were now a dull shade of grayish-blue and he felt a shiver run down his spine as they stared out blankly.

"Hello, Helga." He tried to greet amiably, but his traitor voice wavered at the end.

"What are you doing here, Arnold?" She repeated, sounding genuinely tired.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"From your smell," she admitted after a breath of silence, red blooming on her cheeks. "Olga usually has more of a floral scent."

"Oh." He shuffled his feet, the speech he had ready in his head suddenly absent. "Um, how are you liking New York?" He winced at the ridiculousness of his question. _I might as well ask her about the weather next, _he thought sarcastically.

Almost as if sensing the strain in the atmosphere, the golden-furred dog left his bed and positioned himself in front of Helga, playing the part of bodyguard. Arnold's eyes flickered back and forth from the dog to Helga, unsure which of the two was acting more defensive. "Down, Arnoldo, it's okay. He won't hurt me." Arnold didn't fail to notice the doubt behind her reassurances. At his mistress' affirmation, Arnoldo backed down, resting on his hind legs. Arnold extended a wrist towards the complacent dog, inching himself closer. Instinctively, he sniffed at the man's offered limb, and, deciding that he was indeed rather harmless, licked it as if giving his approval to approach. Arnold awarded him with a warm pat between the ears.

"Did you name him yourself?" The question slipped from his mouth before he stop it. The tension between the blonds mounted.

"No," Helga disclosed, the stain on her face deepening. It was clear that she had been hoping that he wouldn't catch the connection, but both knew it was a stupid wish. "The people at the training centre named him."

"Oh." Was all he could say, sounding disappointed. "Um, he's a very nice dog; does his job well." He added, recalling the way Arnoldo had navigated Helga through the park and across the busy street.

Thankfully, Helga was never known for her beat-around-the-bush attitude and attacked his presence once more, banishing any chances for an awkward silence to appear. "Both you and I know that you didn't come here for small talk – just get straight to the point. What do you want?"

He responded with his own question. "Why?"

A soft sigh penetrated the air. "If you don't know by now you really do have paste for brains, Arnold." Her reply, while undeniably forestalling, was tinged with a weary sorrow he couldn't shake out of his mind.

He pushed forward, discontent with her impassive answer. "But why the secrecy? Why are you always pushing me away, Helga?" His entire body itched to reach out her, but his fear that she would recoil from his touch was much more dominant. After a mini-war with himself, he decided against his initial desire, clamping his arms at his sides.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She said firmly, ever the master at playing the game of denial.

"You know _exactly _what I'm talk about, Helga!" He retorted angrily. "All my life, you've been just around the corner, playing the obscure guardian angel and guiding me through all my problems. If you would just take a second and stop trying to run away, you would know that I love you, too!" Two ragged, shuddering breaths were drawn. Arnold's eyes widen at his unplanned confession while Helga's trembling lower lip was covered by an equally shaky hand, her own eyes widening in utter disbelief. Sobs soon began to wrack her entire body, and she turned away to keep her visitor from witnessing her moment of weakness. Arnold was deep-rooted at his spot, unsure whether or not her fat tears were a joyous reaction to his admission.

He had anticipated being mauled down in happiness, a peck on the cheek maybe, he would have even taken a slug on the shoulder, but what she said next defied all his expectation. "Just- just stop it, Arnold! Don't you say those – those _words_ – don't you _dare_!" She snarled at him, finally looking like the fiery warrior-woman he knew she was. Her face was twisted into an angry snare and her knuckles paled as they clenched around handfuls of her bed sheets. "I get that you're feeling like you're under some sort of obligation to repay for me what I've done, but –"

"_Obligation_? Why would you think that I would be saying all of this under some sort of _obligation_?" He spat out the offending word as if it left a foul taste in his mouth, hurt at the mere suggestion.

"Well, what other reason could there be?" She bit back, producing a cynical, broken laugh before sobering. The fight in her stance left her as she freed a long breath, her expression returning to its drained and disheartened form. "If my parents – the people who were _supposed_ to love me no matter how hopelessly untalented I was and stick by me even if I was just the _other _daughter – didn't love me, how could I ever expect you – wonderful, amazing, glorious you! – to? It just never made sense!" Helga heaved, her shaking hands an indication that she revealed much more than she had intended. "I love you, Arnold, I always have and I always will. But you have to understand that I didn't do what I did so that I could have something over you – so that you would feel_ indebted_ to me. I did it for the little girl who was stuck in the rain all those years ago and for the little boy who showed her the first shred of kindness she had ever received." Memories of their first encounter rippled through his mind; pink, blue, and rain. "I know it probably didn't mean very much to that little boy, but he saved her_ life_ the day he held that umbrella over her. Since then, that little girl has been trying her damnedest to repay him for everything he's done, for everything he's ever given her knowingly or otherwise, hoping against hope that maybe one day, he would finally get to see in her what she always saw in him. So you see, you don't have to feed me your pretty words. Just know that I'm going to continue to love you and be there for you until the very last second of my life, even if you don't feel the same way. " Her face cracked into an unconvincing smile.

Unknown to her, her glossy stare was directly boring his, betraying her attempts to put up a strong façade. Over the course of his life, he had seen countless emotions flash through hers before – passion, exasperation, anger, annoyance – but never had he felt like he was drowning like he was at that instant. "Funny that I finally get to see the real you through your eyes…" he breathed, unsure if she caught it. He allowed himself to reach out to feel the flutter of her lashes against the pad of his thumb and trace the curve of her eyelids. Then, without another word, he pulled her towards him and kissed her.

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><p>The end. No, seriously, that's it. I had a couple ways I wanted to end this – one involving a flash forward and a walk down the aisle; another with Arnold walking away with the knowledge of Helga's unconditional love, but unable to say the words back to her, thus leading a life of regret as he starts a family with another woman – but this ending was the only one that seemed to <em><strong>fit<strong>_. I'm willing to bet that a few people will be disappointed in my lack-lustre ending and I'm sorry if you do. But I like it (: I'm thinking about maybe doing a few outtakes for the story, possibly in Helga's point of view, but no concrete plans yet.

Thank you to everyone who supported this little project of mine! I deeply appreciate all the support and extremely kind reviews you've all given me. You guys are **amazing**! *hugs* Oh, and for those who wanted the link of the music video that inspired this story, please don't hesitate to ask (:

P.S. Having never gotten one myself, the wording of the acceptance letter from Oxford University is completely false. I'm positive that they would have been a lot more articulate and professional sounding hahaha.

In the immaculate words of author and inspiration speaker Leo F. Buscaglia: "Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around".


	4. Very important note!

Sorry if you got your hopes up, but this is just an author's note. The first part is me telling you all about how I messed up some details with my story, and while I can admit that it is rather boring, **please read until the very end!** I promise you that it will be worth it, especially if you're eager to read more The Art of Losing stuff!

Okay, so I received a review from a very kind reader who pointed out that some of the medical practices I portrayed in my story were unethical and illegal. She graciously pointed out that the acceptance of corneas (or any other organ that might cause permanent damage or death if donated) is completely against medical practices in the United States. I'm fairly confident that such laws are identical where I'm from, and I'm very sorry to have not stated this in my story. I was aware, of course, that even for a fictional story I was stretching reality pretty far. So to be clear, the medical practise of accepting corneas from a living being (as I have portrayed in my story) is completely **false** and **not practiced** in America.

So again, I deeply apologize for not clarifying this in the first chapter where I should have. It was my mistake and I hope I haven't disillusioned anyone into thinking that such practises are permissible and ethical. Thank you so much to the reviewer who called me out on this! I promise to be more diligent when providing information for any of my future works.

**NOW FOR THE EXCITING NEWS!**

The super talented **One Fine Wire **has written a companion fic for The Art of Losing, so if you were left discontented with my lack-lustre ending, be sure to check it out! It's called One Art, and I can honestly say that I could not have done a better job. For all of those who wished to read The Art of Losing from Helga's side of the story, this is the fic for you!

If you're interested, there is a link located on my profile for your convenience, but if for some reason it doesn't work, you can also find it in my Favourites list. Also, please don't forget to review her story; it's such a great piece of work that definitely deserves to hear your praise. If you liked my story, you're going to **love** hers!

Happy reading!

~Ardie


	5. Outtake: The First Letter

Hello, everyone!

I'm sorry that I haven't posted anything in a long time. This past school year was my final year of university and so I really wanted to focus on my schoolwork with the hopes of graduating. Thankfully, everything went well (though not always smoothly) and I will be graduating next month! With all of that out of the way, I can (hopefully) get back to my writing. Apologies in advance if my writing is a little stiff. It's been quite some time since I've written anything that wasn't academic in nature, so I am a little rusty, but I hope you all still enjoy it!

Just to provide a little background information, this outtake takes place between the events of chapters one and two, so a few months after the surgery. Helga is living with Olga in New York and Arnold hasn't found out the identity of his donor yet, as you will see in this chapter.

I would like to dedicate this outtake to **UrielManX7** who created a beautiful piece of fan art for _The Art of Losing_. If you haven't seen it yet, I've provided a link to his deviantart account in my bio. If you have a deviantart account, please show him some love and leave him a comment!

(P.S. UrielManX7, I'm sorry it took me so long to reciprocate your kindness! I really hope you enjoy this!)

_Disclaimer: I do not own_ Hey, Arnold!_ or any relating plots or characters._

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><p><strong>The Art of Losing<strong>

**By Ardent Ly**

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><p>"You have mail, Baby Sister!" She heard Olga exclaim, followed moments later by the shutting of their front door and the twist of its locks. "What a nice surprise!"<p>

Helga grunted around a mouthful of eggs and toast. "That's great! Give it here so I can read it—oh wait, why's everything so dark? Help, Olga! I-I can't see! I think I've gone blind!" She sniggered as her shoulder was jostled forward, a clear indication that her sister wasn't impressed with her humour.

"Helga…" her sister berated her in a disapproving tone.

"Oh, come on, Olga, lighten up!" She retorted, feeling around the kitchen table for her glass. "It was just a joke."

"That wasn't funny, Helga. Orange juice at two o'clock," Olga reminded despite her irritation. Helga gingerly reached towards her upper-right side and, as expected, her fingers made contact with cool glass. Feeling oddly satisfied with herself, she grasped her drink and slowly brought it to her lips, taking two deep gulps.

"Thanks. Who's it from?"

There was a dull thud of an overhead cabinet closing and the familiar rattle of pills before her sister answered. "It's from the organ donor agency!" Olga said with a short gasp.

Helga snorted, taking another bite of her breakfast. "Seriously? You'd think _they_ of all people would remember that I can't freakin' _see_!"

"Now, now, Helga, I'm sure there's a good reason. And it's nine-thirty now; time to take your medicine." Grumbling under her breath, the younger of the two Pataki sisters jutted out her hand, accepting the pills and washing them down with a swig of her juice, completing her morning routine. "Would you like me to open it?"

Not wishing to test her sister's patience any further so early in the morning, Helga offered a simple nod. "Please." There was the brief, though oddly satisfying sound of paper ripping—the envelope, Helga surmised—then the careful rustling of a single sheet of paper. Her brow furrowed when Olga's soft gasp reached her ears. "What's wrong? What happened?" Helga inquired, her confusion furthering as a deep, sad sigh penetrated the air.

"Helga…" In her mind's eye, she saw her sister's top teeth gnawing at her bottom lip, one of Olga's many nervous habits Helga knew. "Helga, it's a letter from Arnold."

Helga was thankful she didn't have anything in her mouth because she was sure that had there been, she would have been spewed it all over their table. "What?!" Her breaths grew laborious as her head spun with shouting thoughts. _He knows! They told him and now he knows! Criminy, what the hell was the point of that confidentiality agreement if they were going to spill the beans anyways! I'm going to sue them for everything they've got! Oh God, oh God, oh God! Good job, Helga, old girl, you've messed up again! He was never supposed to find out! _She rubbed her eyes frustratingly with the heel of her hands. _How did he react? Does he still remember how I feel about him? God, I am so pathetic and now he knows just _how_ pathetic! He's probably having a good laugh right now with Tall-Hair Boy. Stupid, stupid Helga! _Her nails sunk into her palms at the thought of his cruel laughter—or worst: his disgust. Her heart clenched as she pictured Arnold's usually soft face contort into an ugly look of horror and then revulsion, his perfect mouth demanding that his new eyes be removed immediately.

Two rough hands shook her shoulders, forcefully jolting out of her disheartening thoughts. "Helga! Helga, breathe! It's fine, honey, it's fine; your secret is safe! Listen: 'Dear Donor GWTE0910SM….' Did you hear me, Helga?" The words pierced through the dark cloud engulfing Helga's mind.

"S-safe? My secret's safe?" She whimpered. "He doesn't know?"

Olga's strong arms surrounded her. "No, Baby Sister. He doesn't know. The agency left your identity anonymous, just like they promised." she confirmed.

Air refilled her parched lungs. "He doesn't know it was me…he doesn't know…" Helga chanted over and over, drilling the confirmation into her head. "My secret is safe." Her sister rubbed soothing circles onto her back, urging her to breathe deeply.

"Would…would you like me to read it out to you?" The question was positively drenched in hesitation and fear.

Helga's breath hitched once more. A piece of Arnold rested so close before her and after months of not even smelling the fresh scent of his shampoo, her heart called out to hear his written words. Voice caught in her throat, Helga could only nod, and her palms began to sweat as her anxiety heightened.

Olga's reply was tentative, but had an undertone of relief. "Okay…if you want me to stop at any time, just let me know and we'll save the rest for another day, all right?" She daintily clear her throat and then,

"Dear Donor GWTE0910SM,

"Hello. My name is Arnold Shortman, but I'm sure you already know that. I'm sorry, I'm not very good at writing letters, but I knew I had to reach you somehow and this was the only way.

"First off, I would just like to say 'thank you.' Thank you so, so much. I'm sorry those words are so inadequate compared to what you have given me. I will never have enough words to tell you how grateful and humbled I am for your generous gift. I don't know what I possibly could've done to deserve what you've given me and I know I will never be able to repay you in turn, but if there's ever anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to write back and let me know. I would love to be there for you in any way that I can, just like you were for me.

"Please don't think I'm being rude or insensitive for sending you this letter." Helga rolled her eyes. How typically like the Football Head, thinking his kind gesture was an inconvenience. "I know you're probably going through your own struggles right now, so I hope you're with someone who loves you and is taking care of you."

Helga felt around the table before her fingertips made contact with her sister's hand. "That's you, Olga," the younger Pataki murmured, gripping her sister's hand firmly. At the faint sound of sniffling, Helga instantly regretted her remark and her throat tightened up with emotion. She never should have said anything.

After a short pause, Olga responded by squeezing Helga's frail hand in turn. "I'm glad, Baby Sister." A few more beats of silence hung between them before Olga indiscreetly cleared her throat and continued on, though her voice wavered slightly at the start. "I hope you don't think I'm being rude or insensitive, sending you these letters, and I hope you're with someone who loves you and is taking care of you." She repeated once more and Helga got the sense that her sister was tasting Arnold's words. "As big as your heart probably is, I'm sure you are. And that makes me so happy.

"Right now, my (fantastic!) mom is writing this letter out to you, but I'll be starting visual therapy in a few weeks and I hope to be able to personally write you a letter soon. And really, it's all thanks to you that I have even have the chance to do so. I hope that one day, you will come find me so that I can personally thank you for your generosity. Only the kindest of souls would have sacrificed what you did for someone else—" The crease between Helga's brows returned when she heard her sister's unsuccessful attempts to suppress her sob, but before she could comment, Olga soldiered on through the rest of the letter. "—and though I don't know who you are, please know that you've touched my life in a way I can't even explain. I am thinking about you every day, even though I don't know what you look like and don't have the slightest idea how your voice sounds." The youngest Pataki gave a bark of a laugh at these words. _Oh, if only he knew…_she thought to herself, loving the irony. _Oh, my Football Head._

"I know Dr. Monroe mentioned that you wanted to remain anonymous, but I've attached my address in case you changed your mind and wanted to get in touch. I would love to hear from you and get to know you if I don't already, so please write back if you have the time.

"Thank you again so much. I feel like I could say that every minute of every day, but it still wouldn't be enough. I hope that one day, I can show the same amount of kindness and bravery you did to you or someone else. Again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

"Hoping to hear from you soon,

Arnold Shortman."

Helga's body suddenly felt too light and too heavy all at once. For the first time since the surgery, the weight of her decision was lifted off her chest, only to be weighed down by the crushing knowledge that this piece of paper was the closest she was ever going to get to him again. Arnold had printed his very essence onto the paper and she would have given anything—_a lung, my liver, maybe even a kidney or two, _she joked despairingly in her mind—to be able to read it herself.

"Your young man sure knows how to write a letter," Helga heard before the trumpeting sound of Olga blowing her nose blasted through the room. Her sister wasn't as delicate or put together as their parents had believed, something Helga found humorous if not a little distressing, especially when she was upset. "Oh, wait, there's a little note at the bottom.

"To Arnold's Angel,

"We just wanted to thank you personally for what you've done for our son. We always knew that he was a special young man, and we know now it's because he has such amazing friends like you watching out for him. Thank you for what you have done for him. We're sure it wasn't an easy decision to make, and we are forever grateful to you the amazing gift you've given him. As Arnold said, if there's ever anything we can do for you, anything at all, please don't hesitate to contact us. We would love to hear from you and get to know the wonderful man or woman who has blessed our family.

"Thank you so, so much. Please know that you are in our thoughts and prayers.

"Stella and Miles Shortman."

The two Patakis stayed silent after that, with only the occasional sniffle from Olga disrupting the quiet. Tears burned behind Helga's eyes, but she stubbornly held them back, unwilling to break down in front of her sister who sounded emotionally unstable as it was. _Oh, Arnold…_

"Do you want to write back to them?" Came her sister's watery voice. "I can write as you dictate, if you'd like."

Did she want to reply? Helga toyed with the idea briefly before she decided, "Not today," and left it at that. As much as she wanted to reply to his sweet letter, she feared that she would accidentally let something slip and unconsciously reveal her identity, that he would be able to see past her words and figure out that his donor was really his childhood bully. _No, _she settled. _I can't risk it._

With a noise of disappointment, it was clear that Olga didn't quite agree with her decision, but thankfully did nothing to change it. "All right. You just let me know." Helga listened intently at the soft crinkling of paper as her sister returned the beloved letter into its envelope. "I think we've had enough excitement for this morning. Let's finish our breakfast, hmm?"

Helga shook her head. The thought of food made her stomach churn. "I'm not very hungry anymore. Actually, I'm feeling a little worn out. I'd like to go up to my room now, please."

"Are you sure, Helga? You've barely touched your plate."

Helga dismissed Olga's worries with a lazy wave of her hand. "My new medication is making my head feel light. I think I better go lie down for a bit." These were the magic words, Helga knew, and in the next second, she heard the brief screech of a kitchen chair being pushed back.

"All right, Helga, but you let me know if you want to eat later on, okay?" Helga nodded before cautiously standing from the table and allowing Olga to place her hand in the hook of her bent elbow. In unison, they took a few steps before she felt Olga prompting her to grab hold of her long white cane. Helga cautiously swung it back and forth in front of her in short arcs. "Oh, careful with the side table!"

Olga's warning came too late as Helga felt the slight tremors of the blow climb up her cane to her arm. "I really hate this thing," she commented with a slight snarl.

"I know, Helga," the elder Pataki replied in a soothing tone. "If you'd like, I can talk to your doctors about some alternatives. I believe Dr. Monroe mentioned the possibly of getting a guide dog at your last appointment, so we can look into that if you think that'll make you more comfortable."

Her young sister brightened, contemplating the idea. "I think I'd like that. I've always wanted a dog."

"All right, then," Olga assented. "I'll give her a call later in the afternoon and see if she can recommend any organizations we can check out. Okay, careful now, we've reached the staircase."

With her sister's direction, Helga permitted herself to be guided up the stairs and down the short hallway into her room. She knew now not to complain about her fragile state despite the itch to insist that she didn't need the help. The first time she had attempted to brave the stairs on her own, it had ended in bruised shins and a near tumble back down them.

"I know it's hard now, but you need to be patient, Baby Sister." Olga had tried to reassure her as she patched up a scraped knee. "It's going to take some getting used to, but for now, don't be afraid to ask for my help when you need it. You've always been so resilient and independent, but I'm here now. You don't have to be afraid to rely on me. I'll be strong so you don't have to be." It was then when their relationship had solidified, and while Helga still stubbornly insisted on doing what she could by herself, she had to admit (even if only to herself) that having her sister around wasn't as bad as she had initially believed it was going to be.

Snapping back into the present, Helga loosened her hold on her sister's arm. "Let's get you settled, Baby Sister." This time with very little assistance, Helga made her way onto her bed, sinking down into the plush mattress before reaching for her covers and laying her head on her pillow. She heard Olga's soft, but soothing humming as the elder girl tidied up what little she could in the small room. "Do you want you want me to put on some music?"

"No, it's okay," she replied, settling in. "Maybe later. To be honest, I'm getting a little sick of Dino Spumoni." The two blondes shared a chuckle.

"I have to do some research for Professor Koeber's class, so I'll see if I can pick you up some new CDs on my way home from the library later. Will you be okay here by yourself for a while?"

Helga resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. "Yes, Olga, I'll be fine. It's not like I'm going anywhere. Besides, you'll only be gone for like fifteen minutes, right? What trouble could I possible get myself into in that short amount of time?" She flashed her most innocent smile.

Her sister snorted. "Sure, Baby Sister. Now, are you absolutely positive?" This time, Helga gave into the temptation and her unseeing eyes swivelled up to the ceiling.

"Yes, Olga! Don't worry! I won't burn the house down or anything, I swear. Go on and have a good time at the library. Grab me some audio books while you're there." She felt Olga tread her long, elegant fingers through her hair, another of her elder sister's nervous ticks, she knew.

"All right, all right. I promise I won't be long; I just need to grab some books I put on reserve. But you be sure to call me if you need anything, anything at all!" Helga heard a dull plunk by the side of her ear. "Here's your cell phone. You remember how to use it right?"

"Yes, Ol-ga," the younger blonde replied exasperatedly, exaggerating the syllables in her name.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'm just nervous." With a final sweep through Helga's hair, Olga moved to leave the room.

Remembering that she still had Arnold's letter, Helga called out to her in a panic, praying that she hadn't left yet. "Olga, my letter!" Thankfully, she heard Olga's quick footsteps hurrying back to her side.

"Oh, sorry! Here you go," she slid her sister's mail into her outstretched hand. "I'm going to make you a sandwich before I go. I'll be right back," With that final note, Olga left with the soft click of the door, and Helga released the heavy sigh she had been containing.

Assured that her sister wasn't coming back any time soon, she sat up. The room was eerily quiet save her own breaths and the constant ticking of a clock she couldn't see. She toyed with the edges of her paper treasure before gingerly slipped the letter out of its envelope and unfolding it. She didn't want to risk ripping it in her eagerness. In the safety of her isolated kingdom, Helga laid the open letter flat on her chest, trying to capture any warmth he might have left behind.

"You're welcome, my darling."

* * *

><p>Thank you for reading!<p>

-Ardie


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